Conviction
by Larken
Summary: One reasons there is little to be done against a god, yet true conviction defies logic and can make very real the impossible. : re-imagining of Lord Sunday:
1. Chapter 1

The Incomparable Gardens is the purest embodiment of beauty and grace that lies within the House and especially the Secondary Realms. However, its wealth is not only defined to be the highest demesne. It is the eden to a god, Lord Sunday, master of the House in utter entirety, the realms surrounding in true omnipotence, and all existence now and ever will be unquestionably. This realm is reserved for only the elite. No heir and no traitorous denizen will taint the land with a single footstep, with a single breath, with a single heartbeat. This rule strengthened by kin, proven by power will never falter and will never fall to a usurper so unworthy or to any entity that dares to challenge the righteousness that is me.

Heir Arthur Penhaligon, supposed Master of the Lower, Middle, and soon Upper House, Lord of the Far Reaches, Duke of the Border Sea, Overlord of the Great Maze, and soon to be my very new toy. Your penchant for breaking the rules has unfortunately caused me a tad bit of ire. Yet little boy lost, do not worry no more. The Great Lord will be very forgiving and right all the so painful wrongs. I will find you. I reunite you with your mother, your dear friends, your mortality lost.

I will fix your existence, let me assure you.

"Because Arthur, I understand what drag your steps, what hunches your back, what keeps your head to the ground. I admit, I do not know how strong your conviction is as of now, but seeing you make it this far, trying so desperately to save everyone and to simply go home to where everything is okay again, makes me so pleased.

Thank you, little boy, for allowing me to be the one that breaks you. Cheers." The wineglass clinked against the glass wall of the Observatory high atop his ivory tower, a grand monolith built from perfection from the ground to the highest peak of its crenellations. The observatory oversaw the entirety of the Gardens at any point in its geography and such could be seen and marveled at in its white extravagance. While the Gardens was proclaimed exclusive, the Lord's residence was even more so. The tower gleamed and shone unnaturally as if protected by a mantle of light.

Lord Sunday finished the crimson nectar, a wry smile still apparent on his fine features. The glass dematerialized in his hands with a fading blur. He reached for a pocket watch, grabbing the chain and sliding down to the platinum and gold embossed case that rested in his waistcoat pocket. With a deft flick of his hand, he opened the cover revealing a decorated clock face and checked the time. The smile melted away to a subtle frown. Waiting, of course the heir would disappoint by arriving late.

He snapped the cover shut and his thoughts shifted to his ludicrous deputy. Vicious anger now contorted his beauty. Surely claiming the key from that imbecilic trustee Saturday would take literally no time at all. Like a pathetic blind hound begging for scraps from the master's table, she begged for absolute power, for the great demesne from the Architect. However, no amount of begging or obligation defeats action and achievement. He earned the paramount key, the instrument to the mastery of all.

As his first action, he deemed Saturday worthy of punishment. Physical torture however satisfying for someone so unredeemable is limited at best. So in his genius he devised the most delightful concept. The constant taunting of the Gardens over her head created his own personal Tantalus. Her suffering, his entertainment. Now came the end to such pleasures and the beginning to a wonderful replacement.

Artificial sunlight casted a long shadow of the Lord on the veined marble floor, a shadow that mimicked him gingerly handling a thin chain necklace and upon it, a small elaborate key. Halfheartedly gazing out to the nigh infinitesimal arbor life and statue décor, he enclosed the key within a tight fist. Immediate knocks on the oak office doors alerted his success. Resuming to hide the necklace back under his shirt, he took a quick exhale to alleviate his burning anxiety.

"Good, I have pressing tasks for all of you," Sunday explained as his Times strode in, ending in attention at the base of his desk. They waited as their Lord took his seat and wrote a single word on a letter envelope. Without placing anything inside, he folded over the flap. Hot red wax flowed from the center of the overlap forming a perfect circle. He stamped his insignia; the wax drying instantly. Lord Sunday then gave the letter to his ebony Reaper. A green hand dressed in leaves and vines extended for the invitation. "Dusk, find this girl on Earth and bring her back alive. She is imperative to the coming heir and I want a stacked deck.

Noon, create a report on the heir's current, however agonizingly slow progress. I suppose I have to spoil my own surprise." At this point, Sunday heavily sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "And while you are on reconnaissance in the Upper House, if you happen to meet Lady Saturday. Tell her I gave the heir my best regards."

"Should I make contact with the heir if the occasion arises?" Noon implored interrupting his master. Sunday glared at Noon who stepped back immediately and bowed in apology. Sunday stood up, snarling and livid, and with both hands slammed on the desk leaned towards Noon. He hissed, "Now Noon, why would say that?"

Noon dropped his head in respect, not daring to challenge Sunday's glare. The other Times shifted uncomfortably. Noon nodded his head faintly, slowly working up the nerve to explain. "Perhaps, a tacit incentive could encourage the heir to speed his progress." Sunday debated the wisdom of such 'advice' and sat back down with his hands clasped together. The knuckles turning white Noon noticed.

"Very well," Sunday began, still glaring. This time he wrote a proper letter in an envelope similar to Dusk's assignment. Once signed and sealed, Noon picked up the envelope.

"Dawn, assembly the army. The heir will be unable to stop the invasion for me." The Times bowed and commenced their assignments. Sunday leaned back in his chair; his eyes closed in silent contemplation.

A sudden urge of cruelty crossed his mind. This urge besieged his thoughts to a halt. "Dusk," Sunday quickly interjected while reworking his command. The Reaper stopped halfway out the door and gave proper attention once again. "I rescind my past order. I would still like to have the girl alive, but on the off chance that things do not go accordingly," Sunday let out a slight chuckle and revealed his malicious intent, "kill her, mount her head on a pike, and give to it to the heir as a house warming gift. Oh, and do not forgot the bow."

-xxx-

Arthur breathed in and slowly exhaled. His breath condensed in the cool never ending rain. As he calmed himself, he watched each drop fall from his matted hair to the distant ground below. The ram and its metal contraptions groaned occasionally as they sped through the air. He shivered, not because of the rain he had long been used too and had soaked him through and through but the oncoming event, that single trial he had worked tirelessly to have a chance at. He mouthed the words over and over. Saturday's key will be hers no more and then, it would be time for Lord Sunday's.

His sight fixed itself to the sky around him. The scintillating clouds filled him with troubled feelings and a twisted gut. The steel gratings rumbled haphazardly as the ram climbed ever higher. He ignored all the jumbling commotion of the other supernumeraries and tried his best to push back against them to prevent falling over the railing of the platform. He heard Saturday's Dusk calling out various orders in the distance. He twitched uncomfortably as the will skittered across his body.

"Calm down," Arthur pleaded quietly. "Please." The Will ceased immediately and settled in the crevice of his collarbone. All he could now was wait.

"Are you ready?" the Will whispered. "What is about to come is your greatest tribulation."

Arthur swallowed down the anxiety. He reached inside his coat pocket and slid his fingers against the cool glass of the fifth key. Power flowed through his hand and invigorated his entire body. He took another slow breath. He remembered all the promises he made and the grave responsibilities laid upon him. He will end this for everyone despite fear or opposition. He could still keep going; he could still be trying. "I have to be."

If he was still human, his body would have failed him so long ago. Even so, he had tried just as relentlessly to preserve the sense of himself. Denizenry is better than mortality a thought proclaimed. Arthur's heart almost skipped a beat. Why attempt lowly subterfuge it continued. Announce your greatness and watch all these pathetic denizens cower under your might. No Arthur fought back, this arrogance will not become me.

Eventually Arthur's gaze broke from the heavens and scanned the horizons around him. In the distance, a golden streak regularly flew by his side of the platform. He checked with the denizens beside him but none of them seemed to notice as they were consumed with either depressing drudgery or idle chitchat. The streak did not make rounds all over the ram. It stayed centered within his view but stayed far way enough to stay blurred and indistinct. It flew too low for an Artful Lounger.

"Will, can you tell who or what that is?" Arthur implored. The Will shimmered through various forms as it rose to the peak of his collar, not daring to go out farther lest it would be seen.

"I believe that is a denizen," the Will murmured. "I do not know who that is, but I sense dangerous sorcery with that flier. Stay on guard Arthur. I fear this flier may have malicious intentions. "

Arthur squinted and could only make out a vaguely humanoid shape wearing green with golden wings. Golden wi-.

"Hey! Catch him!" Before Arthur could register what had happened, he was hanging upside down seventeen thousand feet above certain death or at least, excruciating pain. Fear capsized his body as the sorcerous supernumeraries grasped at his feet and legs. In his attempt to get a better view, he had leaned too far out and fell over the railing. Arthur felt relieved as the denizens pulled him back to the platform even with the grunts and complaints but that relief evaporated as he spotted the reflection of the mirror slipping from coat pocket.

He instinctively grabbed for the key but it fell past his grasp barely grazing his fingertips. No, Arthur screamed in his mind. A black entity sprinted down his arm and in a flurry of glossy black feathers disappeared with the key. Arthur smiled. It was the Will.

Arthur was heaved back onto the platform as the ram loomed closer to the tip of the tower. Most of the denizens complained at his clumsiness, but the one of them nearest to the railing asked Arthur a very uncomfortable inquiry.

"What was that shiny thing that you dropped? It didn't look like something a supernumerary is allowed to carry." Arthur muttered a blatant lie.

"T'was a snuff box." Arthur clenched his fist trying to stay calm. Nearby, he felt the downdraft of wings. He did not need a denizen pointing out the obvious to know who it was.

"What is going on here?" The sharp commanding tone of Saturday's Dusk made him cringe. The group around Arthur all began talking at once, infuriating the Time. In desperation, Arthur scanned the horizons but to his growing dismay, he could spot neither the golden streak nor the Will disguised as a raven. What if the flier was really malicious and captured the will? Arthur shook nervously. Golden wings might have meant a Noon or maybe a Dawn. It could have been Saturday's. And now her Dusk would surely see through Arthur's disguise now

"Silence!" Dusk thundered. "I will ask again, what happened?" A denizen pointed to Arthur.

"He almost fell off the platform." Dusk snapped to Arthur and adjusted his monocle, examining the disturbance head to toe. Arthur's mind ran through the chances of being recognized. He remembered Japeth's grand stories about the grand adventures of the Heir. Surely, people would be expecting someone taller. Dusk's examination stopped right at the eyes. Arthur froze. The eyes, his were blue now, _unnaturally so_.

"You," Dusk fumed. "You're the –"

"Stop him! It's Sunday's Noon!" Everyone on board the ram started. The mood shifted dramatically; the denizens were in rowdy commotion. Dusk snarled at Arthur before flying off to confront Sunday's Noon. "You will get your comeuppance. You cannot escape anyways. I feel not a key in your possession. It might have helped you avoid detection, but it will not help you now." Arthur clenched his teeth, berating himself for being so stupid as to fall.

Dusk intoned through all the noise, a clear note heard perfectly sound. "Artful Loungers, protect this ram!" Arthur leaned out towards the horizon once more. He saw nothing but in the corner of his eye, he caught the golden streak. Moving far faster than before, Sunday's Noon weaved between the Artful Loungers. Arthur watched the acrobatic display. The Loungers attacked every opportunity they could. However, no hit landed upon the Noon.

As the fight continued on longer, Arthur saw Dusk increasingly more irate in the distant, stamping his foot in the air. He watched as Dusk clapped his hands together and lightning erupted as he pulled them apart. In the midst of the storm, he dashed towards the infringing authority, black halberd in hand. Unlike the Loungers, Dusk managed to intercept the Noon and let off a frenzy of swipes and stabs. Noon met his challenger straight not daring to deviate from his path.

A bright light caused Arthur to look away and instead heard the screams of someone in pain. He forced his eyes to open but as he could see were the black shadows left behind by the light. Clashes of steel occured with increasing frequency. As the shadows faded away, he focused back to the battle. Noon was much closer now and Arthur saw that it was not a denizen wearing green but _was_ green. Arthur turned pallid as Noon turned his head to meet Arthur's gaze.

The eye line was broken as a something crashed into Arthur's chest. He fell back against the denizens who said nothing, enthralled with the aerial conflict.

"Sunday's Noon! Sunday's Noon!" the Will rasped on top of Arthur. "He tried to chase me. Oh, are the Artful Loungers good for one thing. One of them spotted him and he flew right off." Arthur stood back up as the Will burrowed itself back underneath his clothes leaving the mirror behind. He pocketed the key feeling safer as soon as he did so. Another metal clash alerted Arthur the battle still continued.

The green denizen charged towards a stumbling mass of black feathers and blue blood. His long sword coated in blinding light left afterimages in the grey skies, tracing its path straight through Dusk's heart. Overwhelming nausea invaded Arthur as Dusk seemingly melted around the sword. The resulting nothing evaporated off the sword. The Artful Loungers backed off immediately fearing the same fate.

"He's coming towards us!" A nearby denizen screamed beside Arthur and scrambled through the crowd. Once done, entire groups of people jostled through to get away. Arthur remained petrified as Noon hovered right in front of him. He was transfixed on Noon. His skin was not that of a denizen. It was green, and it was growing _leaves_. Arthur felt the Will moving to the small of his back to hide.

"Why were you watching me?" Arthur asked, raising the mirror between them as a shield. Arthur stepped forward to challenge the Time. His blue eyes burning with defiance. Sunday's Noon leaned closer and snapped his finger. The denizens all around him fell covering their eyes. Arthur saw nothing.

"Now that is what the heir is supposed to look like. Purpose can transform anyone to force to be reckoned with." Noon reached into his great coat and Arthur twitched ready for an attack. "I had a message to deliver on behalf of the Great Lord." Noon flashed a normal envelope in which Arthur took hesitantly with his other hand; the mirror still held accordingly.

"Let me be clear, Lord Arthur. I did not come to hamper your efforts or in this case to aid. Lord Sunday just wanted to make sure you would be still alive to play with. He wanted to make sure you are exactly as he imagined you to be." Arthur shivered. To be play with, he thought. Who was Lord Sunday? A part of Arthur did not want to find out. Noon bowed and flew upwards back to the Incomparable Gardens. Arthur examined the envelope. It was sealed with red wax imprinted with an S.

As Noon climbed the heights, lightning grazed his wings causing him to fall momentarily. Arthur turned to the source of the sorcery.

"Superior Saturday," noted the Will. Arthur hid the key but loathing to the let it out of his grasp. The Trustee was finely armored for war. The metal shone brilliantly with the evening colors. "There, the key is in her hand!" Arthur noted the writing quill and recited the words once more, ready for the most opportune moment.

"Saturday, Lord Sunday gave the heir his best regards," Noon announced flippantly. "Lord Arthur Penhaligon plans to meet you from the Middle House very soon." Noon finished with the lie and escaped to the clouds before Saturday landed another strike.

"He wanted to make sure you enter in the Gardens undeterred Arthur," explained the Will. Arthur did not reply. He simply recalled the Will's warning, what is about to come is your greatest tribulation. Slowly the denizens rose back up after Noon's blinding light and the ram was prepared to deliver a punishing vengeance. Arthur turned away from the crowd and opened the letter.

-xxx-

Dusk stood upon Doorstop Hill, or what was left of it, which is to say nothing much. His pet growled and clawed the Nithlings that dared to stray too close. The fragile looking leather leash kept the monster perfectly tame to him. From the leashed hand he produced the letter and from the other, a black vine slithered down from the sleeve and shifted to a tall scythe. He broke the seal and the envelope opened. A single sheet of materializing paper flew in of him. It told him everything he needed to know. He checked once more the single word written on the envelope, Leaf.

-xxx-

"I'm very disappointed right now, dear Arthur, and should you tarry any longer, I shall be forced to kill your mother to keep myself entertained. Any moment you waste, another moment she suffers. -S"

The ashes of the burning letter showered alongside the rain. Tear filled eyes of angry determination saw the ram, the Nothing spike, impale deep in the Gardens.

-xxx-

Thank you for reading and please review. On another note, Denizenry is not a real word. I wish it was.


	2. Chapter 2

For Nothing was darkness, an infinite plane where all were born and all die. From it came everything and what everything must return to.

The Front Door was to be retrofitted for a new purpose as the Nothing surrounded him decreed. Door Stop Hill would cease to exist in the matter of a few hours and the door would no longer connect to the Hill. The new location the Door would choose to connect to was too much an enigma to safety use.

The darkness continued on. He felt the emptiness fill ever so slightly around him. A soft pressure draped over the leaves of his body. There would be no need for hurry he had decided. To collect a single human posed no challenge. All the while, the creature, cowed by the leash in his hand, stayed silent, awaiting its master's orders as it glided behind him.

The shimmering outline of the Front Door faded away as the last of the tentacles of his pet had slipped through and left him still encompassed within the dark. Dusk clutched his scythe tighter. Yet this was not the emptiness of before. No more was the infinite expanse of nothing but an enclosed chamber of the underground. This air, now that there was air, was heavy and damp. Water leaked from the corners of the ceilings, dropping erratically and yet mixing seamlessly with the indecipherable noise carried by the dusty ducts and pipes around him. Green tentacles swept the floor in anxiety, stirring dirt along the cracks.

A shaft of light sheared the dark room in half. Dusk still hidden within the shadows tilted slightly towards the now opened door. The voices suddenly cleared of their muffling had one thing to say, surely there must something down here to help us all. A human head peaked in. Dusk coldly met eyes and raised his leash.

-xxx-

There is nothing worse than chaos. It destroys and breaks asunder upon the innocent people. It ruins countless lives yet it is still not the end. The cacophony that follows in its wake tears down the struts of civilization, of hope and dreams. However, there ends up nothing we can do to ease the pain. We must simple push on. Efforts must be made not to simple deal with it, but to push through it and be victorious.

Major Erazmus Penhaligon sat quietly in the passenger seat of the jeep. His heavily gloved hands clasped together in deadlock in fear that if he let go, another catastrophe were to happen forcing him away from the little peace he had left. The rumbles as the tires rolled over rubble and melted metal rocked him back and forth. Yet try as he might, he could not help but to look out at the apocalyptic view before him. Once grand buildings now stood bedraggled and old. Dark clouds blotted the skies and the winds blew along the crumbling ashes of burnt bodies and lifted high the great swaths of fire.

The thought eased him somehow in its own sickly way, he could not see their faces and what were left of their eyes were dark holes. They were just casualties of a biological war. The many outweigh the few. So he stayed quiet as the vehicle, driven by his accompanying sergeant, Chen, made its way down unfamiliar roads and unfamiliar places. In every one passed, all he saw were more dead bodies and he hoped deep down that they were no one he knew. That there would exist a chance for something beyond the horizon, he thought.

"What makes someone do this?" he asked, solemnly. His eyes tore away from the scenes of death and moved upon Chen. He watched her sigh and change her grip on the wheel. He straightened in his seat, his hands raised to his mouth in pensive thought. "What justifies all this murder? Why here? I don't understand.

"I suggested this place to my parents. Told them to move here, that it was nice and quiet place to settle down and retire soon," the confession had no immediate response from Chen.

"Erazmus," she started, gently," you could not have known. The fault lies with the people who instigated this not you." Pausing, she glanced over to him. His brow was furled in distaste. Obviously, she had made a mistake in reply. The silence meandered on as their thoughts eventually coincided. Terrorism and while the effects were curbed for now, the source had yet to be determined and thus, could not be stopped. Chen said the last words. "We're coming up to the camps."

The fumes of burning flesh were overwhelmed by chlorine which he smelled through his gas mask. Instead of grey, the world within the camp was almost entirely white. The tents, the clothes the refugees were given, the beds the more injured were allowed to use. Or it would be closer to say, they were once white. Blood found its way somehow on every surface. Leaking bandages, needles of anti-radiation drugs, and dead people. Erazmus swallowed hard as he saw them again. It was always hard to see a life cut short, but pained him to know that his perception of death cheapened every time and his cares for the fallen smaller and smaller.

Chaos had moved on from the nuclear dead zone and onto the refugee camps. Traumatized people quarreled in lines and frightened soldiers huddled close to the medical bay and supply station as if ready to trench themselves at any a moment's notice. Swiftly, Major Penhaligon and Sergeant Chen busied themselves with their respective duties and once they found themselves alone in a tent, the same silence descended as before.

With files in his hand and seated behind a white plastic table, Erazmus read his new set of orders, to keep the peace in the camps and to keep the quarantine as effective as possible. Physical force allowed. He rubbed the back of his head. He motioned Chen, who was managing files given to her by the onsite medical crew, to come sit in front of him. Chen took noticed and set the files on a nearby table. Erazmus waited as she grabbed a chair leaning against one of the metal support poles and unfolded it before sitting down.

"Chen, what do you think of General Pravuil's disappearance?" Chen's body started at the blunt question. Erazmus imagined the same expression behind the mask.

"We aren't allowed to talk about it." Erazmus nodded. He leaned closer.

"I still want to know what you think." She glared at him and Erazmus continued nonetheless. "Do you really believe that he was carried away by people with wings?"

Chen scoffed. "Of course not. It's just impossible. But, we were that same building and we have witnesses." Erazmus clasped his hands together and exhaled loudly through the filter.

"He was the project head as well. I can see why he was taken. Yet, wings?" Erazmus laughed dryly. "If I told this only a few weeks, I would have just told off the guy. But now, I know this. There is something we are not being told and I fear the future. If we are against an organization that is able to create a biochemical weapon that has no cure, technology so advanced that they can make wings or something like them, and I'm under the pretense if that's so, there are a lot more things out we aren't able to handle, that we are not prepared enough to stop." Chen shook her head.

"It's not over yet. Give things time. What we need is more information. It's no use to mull on assumptions," She was interrupted by an officer. Erazmus stood up immediately to confront him.

"Major, someone is claiming there is a private hospital with survivors." The officer mumbled. "Near the edge of the kill zone."

-xxx-

Panic erupted from the hallway. Alert sleepers scrambled their way across the still comatose to take shelter behind crude barricades and empty rooms. Some tripped and were left behind. Their cries for help bubbled away as their throats filled with blood. The crimson splattered across the white walls of the hospital with the trickling trails ending where the bodies slumped, broken after engaging the beast.

The Reaper cut down the pests that bothered him so and announced his intentions.

"I know among you there is someone named Leaf. I offer again if you are prudent enough to give her to me now, I will end my harvest early. If you do not, every single one of you will lay dead and rotting, staying true to what use humans all are, food for maggots."

No answer greeted him. Dusk snarled and sent his beast to fetch. The beast battered down the door of a nearby room to face cowering humans, crudely armed with abandoned medical equipment. The beast snorted as feelers tasted the air. One patient whether bold or desperate attacked with a fire extinguisher in hand. The metal cylinder bounced harmlessly off the rubber skin while the attacker stumbled back only to be devoured by a myriad of sudden tentacles. The screams escaped down the hall. Some raced behind Dusk to escape his wrath. Their blood made it farther than they did.

So it was as Dusk as searched for the girl. The bold grew fewer and fewer yet one refused to cower. He found his passage through the corridors blocked by one human, insignificant and not the one he wanted. He had little care to differentiate the human from the others. It was just pathetic. Dusk raised his scythe.

"I know where Leaf is," it spoke. He paused. The scythe lingered dangerously close to its head. He was to speak before the human dashed away with the scythe clipping its shoulder as he slashed down in effort to stop it. He growled and chased after her, away from all injured and the dead. The cowering only watched as death chased the elderly woman. The reinvigorated stalled for what little time they could give her.

Her body ached and her steps were staggered as she ran towards the double doors of the hospital entrance. Her lungs tightened so she ripped off her surgical mask. Her hands scrambled over the cold steel handles. The cool air rushed in.

-xxx-

His body ached as he staggered up the steps of the Improbable Stair. Liquid gold slid down his neck and arm, pooling on the white marble. The hole in his head throbbed with incessant pain as his sight blurred and his body dulled. Cold enveloped him. Arthur dropped to his knees as his hands clawed at the higher steps. He bit his lower lips as he forced his good leg to stand and his tired body to balance. He would not end now. He could not stop now. For every trial he had gone through he had succeeded and with the last day comes his absolution.

Arthur gazed up, but saw only the darkness the Stairs disappeared to. No light heralded him. It hurt and he wanted to go home to his family and friends. He wanted this to be over and finally rest. A bed where his mother sat beside and nursed him after an asthma attack, to comfort him when he felt alone, to be there. He felt the tug of the Stair as it mingled with the thoughts of his home. Arthur bit his lips harder and forced his mind to think about the House. He could not leave. He made his promise to fix his home and his world. He made his promise to Suzy to help the Piper's children. He made his promise to Dusk and all the others to remove the tyranny of the trustees.

Arthur spat out the blood from his lips and took that one step. Yet he found no footing and his body tumbled through the darkness only to land on a soft bedding of grass. No more was the darkness as Arthur stared into a bright sky. With his head wound the sudden transition shocked him for an indeterminable period of time. He finally closed his eyes and resumed the blinking that his eyes desperately needed. Regaining some sense, Arthur tried to look around but the pain from fall prevented any movement he tried. Half of his body he found out had completely shut down and one eye was blind.

I need to get up, he thought. I don't know where I am. A wavering hand reached into his coat pocket and withdrew as he pricked himself on the point of the Sixth Key. He tried again, grasping both the cool mirror of the Fifth Key and the quill pen of the Sixth. Arthur whispered but nonetheless ordered, "By both the Fifth and Sixth key, heal me in body and mind completely and immediately."

Arthur screamed through clenched teeth in utter agony as his skull reconstituted itself. He heard the sickening cracks and stretching of the bone and skin. Once the ordeal was over, he was left gasping for breath. Slowly his mind steadied and he started to take in his surroundings.

At first thought, Arthur thought he was on Earth. He was sitting in a large circle of grass surrounded by various plants and trees. Yet as he stood up and examined the flora, he realized they were not native back home, trees with leaves of perfect circles and of unorthodox colors and plants strange and seemingly malformed compared to what he knew.

"Pretty right?" It was a nervous voice yet it made Arthur start and turn around to find its origin. Yet Arthur found no one in the clearing. He only saw the rustling of hedges and leaves as a soft wind blew across. He found his hand instinctively creeping towards the pocket that held his keys. "Hey, up here."

Arthur looked up. It was a small boy, a Piper's child, sitting in the branches of a tall tree; its trunk decorated with dark stripes and its leaves of a faint purple. He was hidden partially behind the trunk and what was completely visible was the hand that held a burning three pronged pitchfork, the shaft resting on the other branches and the prongs burning safely away from the leaves. "Um, they're pretty right? I think they are."

Arthur laughed at his overreaction to an insignificant matter. He was the true Heir to the House and currently in possession of two keys. He was nigh invulnerable, what can there be to stop him. A Piper's child? Arthur smiled and adjusted his coat. He attended to the boy's query. "Yeah, I suppose so. They're different at least."

The boy stayed silent after the reply and fiddled with his pitchfork, yet never let Arthur out of his sight. He squirmed under Arthur's returning gaze but moved out from behind the trunk into clearer view. He was wearing a dirty, blue short-tailed coat with a wrinkled waistcoat. His boots were heavy with mud which stained also his breeches. A patchwork cap covered his dark hair. "You're not Lord Sunday, are you?" Arthur was shocked yet a certain pride within him became offended.

"No," Arthur snarled at the boy who cowered behind his fork. "I am Lord Arthur Penhaligon, rightful Heir to the entire House encompassing, the Lower, Middle and Upper House as well as the Far Reaches, Border Sea, the Great Maze and far beyond the Secondary Realms. Lord Sunday will fall to me." Arthur remembered the letter, remembered his captive mother, and he remembered all his rage. He remembered the victory he felt with Saturday and he imagined the sweet pleasure at Sunday's defeat. He felt his body energize with sorcery, the subtle ache in his bones and the electricity at his fingertips.

I won't give in to this, a sudden thought interjected. He was just a boy. A Piper's child who was taken away from his family to be indoctrinated to be the servants of denizens. I will no such thing. His pride was silenced. He berated himself in his mind. Arthur slipped the mirror back in his pocket. His enemy was Lord Sunday not anyone else. After Arthur calmed down, "Is this the Incomparable Gardens?"

The boy, now almost completely hidden in the foliage, nodded to his question.

"Get down," Arthur ordered. The boy hesitated then slowly edged down the branches. Halfway down, the boy slipped and collapsed to the floor. He got up, crudely dusting off the dirt. He was barely half of Arthur's height and the pitchfork he carried was just as tall as Arthur, unwieldy for someone so small. "Why are you here then? If this Lord Sunday's demesne, who are you?"

The initial cordial tones disappeared as Arthur asserted himself. The boy, frightened and not knowing what to do, tried to defend himself with the pitchfork. Arthur with nothing more than a snap of his fingers dematerialize the weapon. "I want an answer, boy."

The child was horrified as the fork dissolved away in his hands and stumbled to the ground. "I'm here to burn up weeds. I'm a gardener, third assistant sub-gardener's aide, fourth class. I'm just doing what I'm supposed to do. I'm sorry if I messed up. Please." The boy pleaded at Arthur's feet. Arthur frowned; his questions were not answered to his satisfaction.

"Explain what weeds are since obviously my definition differs from yours. But first, I want a name." The boy sniffled. His bright emerald eyes welled up with tears.

"Judah, My name's Judah. I'm supposed to be clearing this place of weeds, Nithlings that get in every once in a while, but they usually accompany exhibits not the gardens out here."

"Exhibits?" Arthur implored. Judah got up with wobbly legs and continued.

"Exhibits are things that Lord Sunday brings from the Secondary Realms. Things he like. Close to here are the Zoological Gardens, for people and animals. Homes are taken too for proper showcasing."

"People?" Arthur whispered. His mother must be nearby. "Take to me Zoological Gardens now and I want a route that does not get me noticed. Do you understand?"

Judah nodded, his body shaking in fear. He walked towards the nearby bushes as they parted for him. Arthur followed him through onto a paved walkway. As they walked, Arthur closely observed every movement of the hedges that lined the way. The skies were heavily obstructed as Arthur could only see the thin blue stripe between the immensely tall greenery. One hand rested inside the pocket that contained his keys as if ready to confront Lord Sunday at any second.

The overhanging leaves of the walkway casted large shadows, broken where the light filtered through. There was a calming lull about him, a subtle encouragement to stop and rest, to take off the heavy coat and sleep under the cool shade. He was tempted to stop Judah. Yet even as one part of his mind preferred the peace, another felt disturbed. At times he gave in to the malingering feeling to close his eyes only to be jolted awake as he heard a sharp crack of twigs underneath his feet. Arthur realized, why was it so quiet here?

The path was eerily silent. Even as the wind blew past, nothing made noise. The only noise as Arthur noticed came from his footsteps as they occasionally clamored on stone or crunched on dried leaves. Even Judah made no sound as he walked on. His gait was strange as if broken; he was walking with a small limp. Arthur became ever anxious.

"How far are we away from the exhibits?" he inquired. Judah kept walking as if Arthur never uttered a word. "Judah."

Judah stopped and turned around. He looked terrified. His voice wavered. "Just go on down the path, straight down." Arthur became suspicious. Judah wiped his wet eyes with his sleeves.

"I told you to lead me." Arthur stated, ignoring the terror Judah felt. The boy looked away and rubbed his neck.

"I was thinking." Judah paused and readjusted his cap to cover his face. "I'm going to get in trouble. You said you would defeat Lord Sunday, so he doesn't like you, like really doesn't like you. What if he finds out I'm helping you? What's going to happen to me?"

"Nothing is going to happen to you."

"You don't understand. I'm already in a lot of trouble for losing the pitchfork. The first class sub-gardener's going to have my head but if a denizen sees me with you, I'm going to lose more than that. A lot of denizens work the exhibits. I don't want to go there."

"What do you mean more than that?" Judah shook his head and once more resumed his standard silence and pointed to Arthur's destination. Yet Arthur was not to be rebuffed so easily. He coaxed Judah by placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You can tell me, because I won't let it happen to you."

Judah choked back a sob.

"You know Lord Sunday likes to display people and plants, likes to show off. He likes his own handiwork too. In the middle of the Gardens is the Elysium, where the important things are kept. Nearby though are monuments like big towers. The Sub-Gardener at my shed tells me there is only one way to see the Elysium and that's to get Lord Sunday angry enough to display your broken body atop one of the towers." Arthur was stunned at Judah's plight. The boy pushed Arthur away and started to run. Arthur instinctively grabbed the boy by the back of his collar.

"Please go away," Judah whispered, yet Arthur still held on tightly, his thoughts racing. Was this really his final opponent? Someone who cared so little for lives as to make an open mockery of their bodies, someone who would rule with such fear. Welled deep within him, righteous fury burned white hot. Arthur gritted his teeth as his blue eyes glared down the stone path where his mother lay. There will be no failure to proceed, he thought, I will be victorious. He turned back to Judah who looked back, scared.

"I'll make you a promise Judah. When this is over, I'll come back for you and I'll make sure everything's fine for you. I promise." Judah nodded. "All I need of you is to take me the rest of the way, then I'll let you go. Now, how far are we away from the exhibits?"

"Not that far. Maybe a few more junctions."

"Then let's hurry," urged Arthur. Judah watched as he, who towered high above him, walked down the path. There was no hesitance. Each step resounded with purpose. His gait itself reflected his own pride.

-xxx-

Thank you for reading and please review.


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